


Well Trained

by TextualDeviance



Series: The Raven and the Dove [17]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 17:34:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1787314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TextualDeviance/pseuds/TextualDeviance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sparring with his newly combat-ready lover has given Ragnar an appetite for more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well Trained

**Author's Note:**

> Set during 2x02. Follows [Simple Gifts](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1773172).
> 
> This is hardcore porn, folks! Kiddies and the easily shocked stay away!

Something about the fact that his once-docile slave was turning into quite the fighter just made Ragnar want him all the more.

A few months of Torstein showing Athelstan the basics was all it had taken for him to go from staring in confusion at his shield and axe to wielding them with some not-insignificant skill. Ragnar figured, and Athelstan had said a few things that suggested as much, that the former priest's clever mind had a lot to do with it. His body may not have been used to the movement, but he instinctively understood the mechanical aspects, such as angles and leverage, and that helped him quickly adapt to the strategies of working with these new tools.

Too, he had grown physically: The once-modest definition in his arms and chest had filled out, and the bit of softness he had put on with four years of quiet village life had melted away to reveal a hint of more muscle to come. It was not all for show, either, as Ragnar had discovered during some of their recent trysts. Athelstan's newfound strength had made subduing him more of a challenge—and an exciting one, at that.

It was those trysts that Ragnar's imagination kept bringing up as he tested his lover's combat skills. As they danced around each other on the shore, iron meeting steel, all he could think about was flesh meeting flesh. By the time he had finally disarmed the man, Ragnar felt light-headed, as all his blood was currently rushing to his pelvis instead.

After a moment to put the fear of hesitation into him, he extended a hand. Helping Athelstan to his feet, he pulled him close, and leaned in, lips almost brushing his ear. "Milking shed. Dusk." The all-over shiver that rippled through Athelstan's sweaty body made it clear he understood.

 

As summer approached, sundown at this latitude was late in the day indeed. Their evening meal was finished, and the children abed by the time the sky purpled and the first stars winked over the eastern hills. Ragnar made his way quietly through the paths of the village, and slipped inside the milking shed before the moon had crested the horizon. The space was not empty when he arrived: Athelstan stood in a shadowy corner, visible only by the glow of his pale skin. He was already shirtless, and clearly ready for more, as he reached down to adjust the bulge at his crotch.

"Hello," he murmured from the darkness, but before he'd even finished the word, Ragnar had crossed the distance between them and caught him up, shoving him back against the wall. He mashed his mouth down on Athelstan's, thrusting in his tongue as his hands started pawing away the rest of the young man's clothes.

Athelstan groaned happily into the kiss, and his hips jerked up, cock springing free as his breeches hit the ground. Ragnar grabbed for it, gripping the shaft as tightly as he did his sword, and gave it a few ungentle tugs. He was pleased to note that the tip was already slick, a flood of sweet honey oozing out from where it had puddled within the foreskin. It was a quirk of Athelstan's, he had noticed over the years, to leak so much, so quickly, and one he liked. Pushing his thumb down under the delicate skin, he swirled it around, tracing a circle around the edge of the head.

"Fuck!" Athelstan hissed, trembling uncontrollably. He clutched at Ragnar's shoulders, trying to steady himself. Though years of practice had given him considerably more patience now than the first morning that Ragnar had fondled him this way, the man still had a very close edge, and it was one to which anticipation had already drawn him dangerously near.

Ragnar chuckled, and released the organ. "Don't worry. I'm not remotely done with you, yet."

Athelstan sucked in air, and the trembling stopped. "Good." He grinned. "I'm not done with you, either." With uncoordinated hands, he began fumbling with Ragnar's clothes, and those were soon out of the way. He dropped into a crouch and took Ragnar's full length in his mouth at one go.

"Gods!" Ragnar threw his head back and blinked, trying to clear his vision from the sudden assault on his senses. Athelstan's mouth was hot and wet, his lips tight around the shaft and his tongue swirled furiously. He sucked hard on every upstroke, drawing blood into the engorged head, and raked his teeth ever so delicately across the skin as he dived back down. Pulling back with a pop, he continued the attention with one deft hand while suckling his way down the underside to nuzzle and lick at Ragnar's tight balls. Cupping them in his other hand, he did something he'd started only recently: feathering fingertips across the sensitive expanse of skin behind. Ragnar still resisted him going any further, but the more and more he did this—and the stronger Athelstan became—the more his resolve was beginning to slip. Submitting to the soft Christian the man had once been would have been too much for his sense of self to bear. But as Athelstan's now-full beard tickled his thighs and his calloused, sure hands gave him such intense pleasure, something in him had started to bend, if not break. Strange as the realization was to him, should Athelstan ever best him in a sparring match someday, he thought he might well let himself be conquered in another way.

For this night, however, he had other ideas. His need for dominance roaring back, he grabbed a handful of Athelstan's hair and hauled him to his feet. "Enough of that," he snarled, pushing him back up against the wall. Athelstan resisted the manhandling, but only a little, and in any case, the way his cock leapt at the action made his true feelings clear.

Spreading his legs a little to meet the shorter man's height, Ragnar pressed against him, belly to belly and cock to cock. Pushing Athelstan's head to the side, exposing his neck, he bit his way down from ear to collarbone. Athelstan scrabbled at Ragnar's back, tiny yelps escaping his throat as each suckling nip left its mark on his skin. The noises, tinged with pain as they were, only drove Ragnar on. He slid his hands down over Athelstan's chest, cupping the newly defined muscles and rubbing his thumbs roughly over the hard little nubs that crowned them. As Athelstan's keening became ever more needy, he graduated to pinching, rolling the sensitive flesh between thumb and forefinger, and tugging sharply now and then.

He was pinned between the wall and Ragnar's body, so there was little room to wriggle, but Athelstan did anyway, body heaving as his hips tried to help his cock find relief, and his chest arced both away and toward the torment being played out upon it. He buried his face in Ragnar's neck, muffling his ragged barks. Keeping him in place was proving no easy task. Athelstan was so much stronger now that Ragnar's own muscles strained with the effort, and trickles of sweat began breaking out over his body.

Battle instincts now waking up in his mind, Ragnar found himself getting rougher as he struggled to subdue Athelstan's will. Every push, every squirm from the wiry young man went straight to his cock, and soon, he could take no more. With a mighty growl, he grasped Athelstan's hips and lifted, pushing himself forward between the shaking thighs that quickly wrapped around him.

The attentions from Athelstan's mouth, plus the copious wetness that had flowed from them both had made his cock quite slick. In combination with his lover's well-trained relaxation, slipping inside him took no effort at all, and shortly, Athelstan was fully impaled, the moist heat of his body surrounding Ragnar in the most delicious way.

As Ragnar's hips began to rock, Athelstan clung to him desperately, failing in his efforts to keep quiet. By the time Ragnar started biting his shoulder, he was whining with the need for release. It arrived shortly, without even direct contact. As one last, heavy groan escaped his thoat, his cock began dancing, emptying a seemingly endless quantity over his belly. The rhythmic way his body clenched around Ragnar's cock soon tripped the earl as well. After only a few more powerful thrusts, shoving Athelstan hard against the wall and biting so hard he tasted blood, he saw stars, and wave after wave of pleasure echoed through him.

Disengaging was somewhat awkward, as their spent muscles weren't cooperating as well as they might have, but they managed, and soon were merely embracing, and tenderly suckling kisses from each other's lips.

"So," Athelstan said between kisses and ragged breaths, "do you think my training has been paying off?"

Ragnar chuckled quietly. "Yes, Athelstan." He drew him close and dropped a kiss on his sweat-dappled forehead. "I think on our journey you will come in _very_ useful."   


End file.
